Run: 2026-10-13-01M4TBTTJJ3Y4ZTFWDWH8BMKWD

Molly spread the floor plan across the hood of the car and weighted the corners with two juice boxes and a Beanie Boo. "The party starts at two," she said. "The magician goes on at two-thirty. That's our window." Bill squinted at the diagram, which she had drawn in crayon because the only printer in town was inside the library and Bill was banned from the library. "Why is there a triangle labeled 'bouncy castle'?" "Because there's a bouncy castle, Bill." "Right, but why is it on the blueprint?" "Because it's an obstacle. And a temptation. Stay out of the bouncy castle." Bill made a note. It said: bouncy castle, no. He underlined it twice. Molly walked him through it. The target was the Henderson residence, currently hosting the seventh birthday of one Tyler Henderson, a known collector. Intelligence suggested the haul included a deluxe LEGO set, a remote-control dinosaur, and an envelope containing, according to a source inside the grandmother, fifty dollars cash. "Fifty bucks," Bill whispered. "That's big-league." "Focus." The plan was elegant in its simplicity. Bill would enter through the side gate posing as a balloon artist, a cover he had been preparing for three weeks. Molly would create a diversion near the cake, something involving the sprinklers and a heartfelt toast. During the confusion, Bill would move the gift table, item by item, into the trunk. "What if someone asks for a balloon animal?" "Then make a balloon animal, Bill." "I only know how to make a snake." "Everything is a snake if you're confident." Bill nodded, writing it down less as a note than a philosophy. Molly continued. There were risks. A dog named Biscuit with no loyalty and no fear. A father with a camcorder and a concerning habit of filming everything. A clown hired for the second hour whose allegiances were unknown and whose car, Molly noted, was nicer than theirs. "We should've become clowns," Bill said. "We've been over this." "I have the face for it." "You have the face for exactly what we're doing." They reviewed the timing. In at two forty-five, out by three-ten, gone before the piñata, which Molly had flagged as the emotional peak of the party and therefore the moment of maximum chaos. "Are we taking the piñata?" Bill asked. "The piñata is for the children, Bill. We're thieves, not monsters." "That's four pounds of candy." "The candy is a line, Bill. Cross it and I leave you with your balloon snakes." Bill rolled up the crayon blueprint and tucked it into his sock, which was where he kept all important documents. Molly checked her watch, checked the street, checked her watch again. Somewhere down the block, the clown was unloading his nicer car, and seven-year-old Tyler Henderson was about to have the worst birthday of his life, which, Molly reasoned, would build character. "Balloons ready?" she asked. Bill held up a sad gray tube. "It's a snake," he said. "It's perfect," said Molly, and they went to work.